Hot, Hot, Hot!

Okay, here's a story about my dumbassedness.
I was having a grand old time on Friday night, hanging out in the kitchen, cooking pork tenderloin and listening to my new ipod that Husband got me. In this particular recipe, the pork is cooked first in a skillet on the stove, then in the skillet in the oven. After the skillet is taken out of the oven, it sits for a few minutes before being sliced and dumped with chutney. Yum. I've made this recipe a few times now, and it's always been great. On Friday night, all went according to plan, and I even discovered that my food processor is not, in fact, broken, rather I just wasn't setting it up correctly. I braced myself for all sorts of comments and compliments from Husband along the lines of "You are the most awesome cook I've ever personally known, and if you want to quit your job and go to cooking school, I'd completely support that, and of course I will clean up all the dishes and mess in the kitchen as soon as we're finished eating."
Everything was going great. The combination of my ipod's volume and my singing off key drowned out any fussiness from Baby. The problem started when I took the skillet out of the oven. I set the skillet on the stove and started poking around at the pork. I was horrified to discover that the bottom of the pork was burned. I'd never burned this dish before, and I knew that if Husband saw it, he wouldn't eat it. I decided I'd just scrape the burnt part off, and the rest would be fine. A quick inspection of the middle of the meat confirmed this. While I was figuring all of this out, I was also trying to cook rice and chutney, so two of my burners were in use. I decided to rearrange my workspace in order to have an area to scrape the burnt part off the pork. I picked up the skillet, the same skillet that had just come out of a 425 degree oven, yelled "FUCK!" and ran over to the sink to run water over my hand. Husband came into the kitchen and immediately removed my ipod from my ears. I told him to get me some ice, and he went to check the internet to make sure that was okay It wasn't. I was in pain and worried for Baby who was screaming like a fucking banshee (He's not had a good weekend). Husband called our local urgent care center, and we decided to go in. Husband later told me that he wanted me to go in because "I've seen what you're like when you stub your toe. I'd hate to see how you are with an actual injury."
I couldn't stand to have my hand away from cold water for more than 11 seconds at a time, so we filled a ziploc with cold water so I could stand the car ride. Baby screamed the entire way to urgent care, but as soon as he was picked up, he was fine. Apparently we're going through that again. Urgent care was surprisingly empty for 8:00 pm on a Friday. I'd kind of expected drunks and prostitutes like the one in Fairfax.
I saw a nurse and a doctor almost immediately. The nurse seemed knowledgeable, but the doctor seemed more interested in Baby and Baby's jellycat than in tending to my wound. He glanced at my hand and said "Oh, it's not blistered." It was blistered. "I'll get you a prescription for some burn cream and painkillers. Is that a jellycat? How old's your baby?"
"Um, will these painkillers affect breastmilk?" I asked.
He looked hurt. "My wife breastfed our baby for sixteen months. I would never prescribe anything to a breastfeeding mother that would adversely affect the breastmilk." The doctor turned and walked out of the room.
The nurse came back a few minutes later. "Do you want a shot of painkillers, or are you okay just taking the pills?" she asked.
"Um, I took a couple tylenols before I came here."
"Oh, you can't take your pain pills then. You have to wait six hours since they already have tylenols in them. Do you want something to take the edge off?" I wanted to throw myself on the floor at her feet and beg her for something to take the edge off, but I just said, "I think that would be a good idea."
Husband turned to me and said, "That shot's going to go in your anus." I got all indignant and said they don't do that, but he was insistent. The nurse returned a few minutes later and said, "Okay, this shot's going to go in your butt. Pull your pants down." I was stunned and pulled my pants down to the sound of Husband's gleeful laughter. The shot hurt like a bitch, but it worked quickly. As soon as we got into the car, I called Leighann. I had to share my mortification with someone. No answer. I left a brief message on her voicemail, hung up the phone and said to Husband, "My head feels really heavy." By the time we got home I couldn't walk in a straight line. I was vomiting soon after that and was unable to care for my child.
Then I started insisting on making phone calls. My recall is a little fuzzy at this point, but Husband said I "drunked out" all my friends.
I called Caroline, and I remember her telling something about fixing the mouse touchpad on a Mac.
I called Jen, and I remember Husband trying to talk me out of it by saying she was probably asleep. I remember my argument as to why she'd be awake was that she's always awake at 10 p.m. when we're at her house.
I left a message for Scottie and another for Leighann. I insisted Husband eat his smelly pizza in bed with me, and I remember nothing after that.
My hand hurt like a bitch the next day, but my other sister-in-law was coming to see Baby, so I didn't take a painkiller until after she'd been here for awhile. Apparently the pills have a similar effect to the shot.
I had to keep my hand wrapped in gauze. On Saturday it was completely wrapped, to the point where I looked like I had a KKK puppet on my hand. Even though I'm not a racist, it was hard to resist the temptation to draw a face on it. By Saturday night I couldn't stand have my entire hand wrapped up, so I redid the gauze with my fingers exposed, took another pain pill and did my lesson plans.
I'm pretty much fine now; my hand's not even bandaged anymore. I have a couple small blisters, and I think I might end up with a small scar, but I'll just have to wait and see. It only hurts a little, mostly when I type or push the stroller, so there's no need for a pain pill. I guess you're all safe to leave your phones on.